


they shift in the light

by light_rises



Series: the kids are (not) alright [3]
Category: Deltarune (Video Game)
Genre: (although one of the two is oblivious to their own pining lol), Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Autistic Kris, Child Death, Childhood Friends, Fairy Tale Elements, Fate & Destiny, Identity Issues, Illustrated, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Transphobia, M/M, Mid-Canon, Minor Character Death, Misgendering, Missing Scene, Mutual Pining, Other, Pre-Slash, Prehensile Outerwear, Self-Worth Issues, Story within a Story, Trans Male Character, Violence, Worldbuilding, child harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25153825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/light_rises/pseuds/light_rises
Summary: You swallow, with some difficulty; stop propping your shoulder against the jail bars and go back to holding them. "Ralsei," you say.Your head's only half-turned from him, so you can see his attention shift fully back to you. "Yes, Kris?""When, we were—" You stop, inhale. Realize how chapped your lips are and lick them. "Before we left your kingdom. When you told me that my choices are important too, had you already... guessed? About what was going on with me?"Were you just saying that forthem?Did you think it was real fucking funny at the time?--An interlude, looking back, wherein gaps are filled and more shadows are cast.Or: Kris speaks for themself, and Ralsei tells another story.
Relationships: Kris/Ralsei (Deltarune)
Series: the kids are (not) alright [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1326626
Comments: 11
Kudos: 63





	they shift in the light

**Author's Note:**

> [ _What can you know about a person?_ ](https://asmallarchive.tumblr.com/post/134086630712/portrait-of-fryderyk-in-shifting-light-by-richard)
> 
> \--
> 
> another content warning: the story-within-a-story of this fic does not have a happy ending, and its queer characters are included in that. if this isn't content you want to or can engage with right now _please_ feel free to set this fic aside or skip it altogether! your safety is the most important thing here

" _Christ_. You _knew_?"

You hiss this, at the precipice of being more statement than question, after Ralsei had told you to close your eyes and imagine what Susie was up to; also after the abrupt radio silence in your head and chest forced your eyes back open and Ralsei was saying, tone different and weirdly delicate, "Uh. It's just you now, right, Kris?"; and _also_ after, being a good deal less delicate, you responded with some inchoate hyena scream that a) stripped chunks of rust straight off the bars of your tiny dungeon cell, and b) had a " _what the FUCK_ " or five mixed in there.

You have to give Ralsei credit. He'd flinched, but who wouldn't, and right now he's _not_ huddled in a far corner of the cell while you grip these cruddy pitted jail bars, give them a good ringing _**thunk**_ with your forehead before letting it rest there, then ask the question that's almost not a question.

"More suspected than knew," is what he says, "by, um, a lot." He's no more than five feet from you and he sounds... winded. From you spooking him, probably. You're staring at the floor and don't feel like changing that yet to check. "I—I hate to lead off with this, I really do, but I don't want to say anything else without making sure we're talking about the same thing here. Um. That thing being... for lack of a better way to put this: _has_ someone been telling you what to do? By using your soul?"

It's unbidden, the way your shoulders lock, how you almost hack out a _laugh_ of all things. (Heh. "Unbidden." It's funny cuz before now you were—) Your scalp chafes against the bars as you nod.

"Alright. Okay." A breath drawn, too-sharp, then released. "Gosh. Kris, I'm so sorry, I should've given you a heads-up or— _something_ before dropping that on you, but I don't know what else I could've done without... drawing their attention."

Your forehead gets another _whump_ against the bars. Softer this time, and despite yourself, because if you go whole-hog like you want Ralsei might feel compelled to step in. The last thing you need is someone touching you right now. "What the hell," you say, through your teeth, "is that. Are _they_."

He's quiet for too long.

"I'm afraid you'd have more to tell me about that than the other way around," he says eventually, carefully; apologetic. "Theoretics aside all I know is... to be honest I'm not even sure I can properly say I _know_ this either, but. Ha." He gulps. "I-I don't think this is supposed to be happening."

 _Well; fuck_ , you think.

That aside, it's the extra wobble to his voice that really, finally gets your head turned his way. Ralsei stands with his back straight enough, but there's a fine-line crack in his smile, both ends of his magic scarf coiled in on themselves like rolled-up newspaper. His paws unlatching from their polite clasp makes it blindingly obvious: there's a tremor in his fingers. He's _trembling_. Getting thrown into a fucking cartoon dungeon for potentially forever and trying to process _that_ hot mess hadn't rattled Ralsei this bad.

You're processing a lot yourself right now, but that suddenly feels beside the point. "Um," you say, straightening. "You... doing okay there? You seem kind of—extra freaked, if that makes sense."

He blinks at you, smile fading. Then he does about the only thing that could make things worse: _he_ laughs.

At least it's worse until he adds, "Sorry! It's—I should be asking _you_ that, is all," and then he's forcing the laughter to a standstill with a sigh. Ralsei's scarf unfurls by increments as he proceeds to give his eyes a rub, glasses pushed up and askew. "Speaking of: Kris, are you—"

"Yeah, no." You lift a gloved hand. "Don't want me answering that." The hand wavers, self-consciousness a loose vise around your throat. You start to worry your bottom lip. "I mean. You don't need, like, the gory details of how Not Okay I am with this, whole... " You gesture vaguely, at the air around you, at yourself. "Sitch? Whatever the fuck this is."

Credit To Ralsei Number Two: he only leaves you hanging for a second before he breathes another laugh, plainly commiserative. "Fair enough," he says, and that being that on that he taps his glasses back into place. "In any case! I'm happy they're gone for now and we can talk without any, um. Interference." His gaze darts away for a moment, paws reclasping. "I... really wish there was more I could do about this, but if it's fine with you I think we can make the most of whatever time we can get, at least."

That's... more vague about what he has in mind than you're comfortable with. Then again, even through the haze of having your hand held by some otherworldly backseat driver you've picked up on how loath Ralsei is to step on your toes if he can avoid it. Maybe he just wants to, you know, talk.

Which is almost worst. On your own you're no conversationalist, not by any stretch; your mom has spent enough post-dinner lectures bemoaning the fact you can't even reliably pick your way through smalltalk without ~~shutting down~~ giving up to ensure forgetting that is off the table. Ralsei, though—he can, uh, carry on. That's one way to put it. More importantly he seems to like explaining things, so...

"What'd you do anyway? To make 'em leave." You've turned from him, to look past the dingy bars of your cell into the gloom of the corridor that had swallowed Susie up after five steps. "It's, y'know, _nice_ that it worked, but I don't get why."

"Hm. How to explain... " In your peripheral, you catch Ralsei folding his arms while his scarf does the work of tapping his chin in thought. "I should mention up front that my theory on this is, er. Hard to swallow, potentially? Not to mention a little abstract."

You shrug. "After today I'd believe just about anything you throw at me."

"Heh. Point taken." The tension in his shoulders eases, if just the tiniest bit. "So! What I did is a little like... in stage and close-up magic, the kind where you come from, Kris, when a magician uses misdirection? Or patter? That's what I tried to do, roughly speaking. I was working off the hunch that your, uh... "

"Soulmate," you supply.

His eyes widen, either at the term or your glibness. Possibly both. "Oh dear," he mutters, then clears his throat. "Okay. Yes. My guess was that if your, um, soulmate is using you as an avatar of sorts, with your soul as the access point... operating at a remove like that, they might see our adventure as a story and themself as both an audience to everything we're doing and, well, a participant. Another member of the team, as it were."

Ralsei putting it like that brings to mind— _something_. Another metaphor, really, that you've got the wherewithal to poke at for exactly two seconds before the sheer fact of it being Way Too Fucking Much, Actually stops you from voicing it.

In the course of _not_ saying it, you make a face. It must have been notable in some way since Ralsei grimaces back in sympathy. "Some fuckin' creep shit," is the thing you do say, voice tight. "But, yeah. Sounds about right."

He nods at you, still frowning. "Given that you're our leader too, I thought it was also possible they think of themself as—as something of a protagonist. _The_ protagonist. The point of view around which everything else revolves." He pauses with a shudder. It's marginally better than cold comfort to know he's skeeved out by this shit too. "I figured if they were here at all and if there was any hope of making them leave you alone, I would have to redirect their focus while making it look like I hadn't stopped playing along."

"... Redirected to Susie."

"Yes. Luckily for her, the soul _is_ still yours. They're probably not getting up to much aside from observing her." His sigh is nigh-inaudible as he presses two fingers to the left side of his head, rubs the temple there. "At least, that's what I'm hoping."

You sigh too, realizing as they uncurl that your hands had tensed into fists. "Same here," you admit, then let the silence stand for a moment before adding, "I mean. You did pretty good with your other guesses, so... "

Ralsei lowers his paw. The smile he's giving you now has turned a bit wan, a little strained. "Thank you, but that's kind of the problem too. With my guesses"—he dithers here, smile traded for the ghost of another frown—"remember what I said about your soul? That it holds your will, your compassion... "

"... 'The fate of the world.'"

His nod is exceedingly grim. "What's happening to you—or what seems like it, gosh, this is _really_ not normal—i-it's like someone flipped most of that script on you. And, um. To that point... " His shoulders hitch upward again. "My guesses have been drawing a lot more than I'm comfortable with from personal experience, from what I actually _know_. And one of the things I know best is what it means to exist in service to Lightners."

You stare at him. Like. What are you supposed to say to that? Where the hell do you even _start_.

"Kris," he says, at length, "you don't have to answer this if you don't want to, but it might help for me to know: has... this only started happening to you since you came here? To the Dark World, I mean."

This you can speak to, except... you hesitate. You're not even sure _why_. Are you, what, embarrassed? Maybe—and this one makes you want to laugh in the worst kind of way—it's _just_ sinking in that volunteering info about your, uhh, compromised agency to someone you've known for all of a few hours might NOT in fact be such a hot idea?? A little from Column A and a little from Column B???

 _Dumbass. This is_ Ralsei, _also he won't laugh at me or whatever I'm shitting the bed over now._ In fairness that reasoning wouldn't have been good enough for you right at the beginning of all this, but now... you shake your head. "Before," you tell him. "This whole... _thing_ isn't new to me, you could say."

The look Ralsei ends up shifting to and his muttered " _ **God**_ "—spat, really, like a full-bodied cuss—get across a hell of a lot in three seconds.

"Th-that— _really_ complicates things," he sputters, while you're left to digest the fact that he said something very slightly stronger than "golly" or "gosh". "If it had happened in transit from your world to ours at least that'd be—still hard to explain, things getting scrambled like this should be impossible, but I could start wrapping my head around it?? _This_... oh, Kris. I'm really sorry, y-you shouldn't be... I can't think of anything in our lore or the Legend that speaks to _Lightners_ being treated like—" He frowns, eyes squeezing shut. He perches his chin on a fist while his scarf curls at one end to give three knocks against the side of his head. "Ohh, come on, self," he mumbles, "this has to fit together _somehow_... "

After a moment he flops to the ground, cross-legged, settling into what looks like a good think. You do something similar, without sitting: it's subtler than before but Ralsei is still trembling with an unnerved energy, and as you lean a shoulder against the jail bars you can't help considering that again, at least while you've got the headspace to do it cleanly.

Before now, Ralsei seemed to spend every step of this journey being—you can't say unflappable, not really. But even when he was startled or flummoxed there was still this underlying sense of... of calm to him. A serenity. The sort that comes with knowing your place in the world and being confident on a bone-deep level that everything will work out in the end. You've seen enough of this from your mom and Father Alvin and a lot of the older church-goers back home to spot it a mile off, although... well. You guess for Ralsei it became kind of an act after a while? Out of necessity, granted; God knows what your bodybuddy would do if Ralsei slipped up and gave away the game, and it's not like you're in a hurry to find out. But, still.

Some more differences, now that you're thinking about it: even with the Delta Rune being here for whatever reason and Ralsei's legend mentioning the Angel (assuming it's the same angel??) _and_ his stumping for how ~predestined~ most of this crap apparently is, you're pppretty sure the Dark World isn't funhouse mirror Narnia and Ralsei isn't, like, _Catholic_ , or even some off-brand stealth Christian? He would've seen fit to ambush you with an _extremely_ unsubtle lecture about how much God loves you/has a plan for your life/etc etc by this point otherwise. That's one constant in the way most people who profess to care about you have shown it, anyway.

Nah. Ralsei has his lore and the mythic workings of his world to cosign instead. Both of which you've just, like, roundhouse-kicked a hole into by being fucking haunted? Apparently?? "Way to go idiot, you shat on someone else's day AGAIN" should be your calling card at this point.

... Actually. No. You feel even worse about it than that. As in "it's this physical thing sitting knotted in your gut because you can't take any of it back for his sake" kind of worse. Like??? You've barely talked to Ralsei in any meaningful sense for five minutes, tops, and you _still_ care about his feelings that much, like—like.

Like some part of you is thinking of him as the friend he was hoping he'd be to you. Ha.

It's funny, at least almost. When this adventure kicked off you took one look at Ralsei and his specific brand of Model Kid Schtick and decided you were ready to tap out. It just, fucking... it smacked way too much of "been there done that want jackall to do with it lmao" to accept his tweeness at face value? The _real_ insult to injury was that you were stuck with him while Susie got to run off and do her own thing, so it was going to suck, and it _did_ suck absolute balls until the exact moment when he turned to you with a smile and said it was okay if you wanted to hit him.

Uh.

Yeah!!!!!!!! Everything then sucked for a different reason, you could say.

Your shitty co-pilot must have gotten the memo on how much that did in fact suck, because they've since had the good grace to make you be nice to Ralsei. Like, _excruciatingly_ nice, at every damn turn. Realizing this was good by you, furthermore an honest-to-God _relief_... yeah. That was the sea change, you guess. Or at least the nudge you needed to try being more charitable. And now here you are, all the way at the other end of seeing Ralsei in action over and over again, your heart, like, embarrassingly _soft_ for him in a way it's only ever supposed to be for people who aren't real, at least anymore.

Here's the thing, basically: Ralsei is... he's one of the only people you've ever met who doesn't, like, weaponize his kindness? Not where it counts. His niceness isn't a facade or any kind of schtick, it's just _him_. He actually gives a damn about working _with_ you and giving you the best tools he's aware of to succeed. Hell, even within the framework of this legend he believes in so much he said that you still have—

Your thoughts skid, like incautious footing on black ice. _Wait_ , you think, and this time it's the nastiest part of you taking the lead. _Wait._

You swallow, with some difficulty; stop propping your shoulder against the jail bars and go back to holding them. "Ralsei," you say.

Your head's only half-turned from him, so you can see his attention shift fully back to you. "Yes, Kris?"

"When, we were—" You stop, inhale. Realize how chapped your lips are and lick them. "Before we left your kingdom. When you told me that my choices are important too, had you already... guessed? About what was going on with me?" _Were you just saying that for_ them _? ~~Did you think it was real fucking funny at the time?~~_

Another too-long pause. There's something different about this one, though. So much of this quiet is taken up by Ralsei staring back, brows squinched, eyes searching yours like he's not quite getting it—then, finally, by him blinking, followed by a shake of his head and a look that's equal parts nonplussed and dismayed and, just, really damn _sad_.

"No," he says, with an understated fierceness that hits you like a brick between the eyes. "Oh, goodness no, I-I would never... that would've been terribly cruel to you, even if I knew what was going on and thought I needed to say that anyway for—for damage control. Or the hope of it, rather, if they'd wanted to use you to hurt people."

"... Oh." Welp.

You rock back on your booted heels, lurch forward to duck your head; back against the bars it goes. _Welp_. There you went, accusing a perfectly nice person ( _a friend_ ) of being an insensitive dipshit! Because that's the kind of fuckhead you are when no one's around to curb your horseshit, pseudo-possessing you against your will or not!!! _Wow_.

That's about as far as you get in spiraling when Ralsei makes a low wordless noise, then adds, "Um. In the interest of full disclosure, it _was_ around that point where I started to have my suspicions."

You jerk upright, blink at him through your bangs. He's still on the floor, worrying his paws while a length of scarf tries to thread its way into the crook of his right arm.

"When I asked if you'd be okay with trying to get through encounters without fighting," he says, looking past the cell bars instead of at you, "you _said_ you could handle it, but... well. Those were words. The look you gave me, your body language, those were telling me a different story."

Your teeth clench. Where the sense of exposure _really_ hits is along your sternum, singeing and taut. "That obvious, huh."

"In retrospect, yes. At the time I brushed it off. I figured doing anything else would be jumping to conclusions. We'd just met, after all! I wouldn't know how to read you yet, not really, and maybe you were nervous! There was plenty to be nervous about. A-and it's not like I'm used to being around people, either... " He punctuates this with a tiny laugh. It's not a happy sound. "I... should've at least considered the possibility you _still_ felt pressured by me, if nothing else. No matter how excited I was at the thought of us being on the same page."

You frown at him, softening. "Ralsei... "

"Sorry. That wasn't meant to be a prompt for you to reassure me." He gives his head a shake before looking at you again. "Anyway. Signs that something was off kept piling up, so... I stopped ignoring them. I thought about what I was seeing, weighed the possibilities—normal reluctance against your hand being forced somehow—and... well." He lifts his paws, arms outstretched. "Here we are."

"Jailbirds," you deadpan.

It takes a second, but when Ralsei snorts it's _loud_ and it makes you disproportionately happy. You weren't sure he would go for that kind of joke. Nice. "That too," he says, around a giggle. "At least until Susie comes back for... us... ah." His cheer gutters. "Hm." After another moment Ralsei's brows pinch, contemplative, slipping towards nettled as his scarf fluffs out and smoothes the creases in his robes. You wait on him, until: "Kris, I still don't... th-this is kind of embarrassing, actually. Um. Can I be honest for a second?"

"Sure?"

An inhale, then, "Maybe this makes me a bad acolyte but even if this, this soulmate of yours has a role to play in the grander scheme of things and I just don't have enough context to rest easy in that? I don't like it. I can't _make_ myself like it." Humorlessly, his eyes crinkle at the bottom as they meet yours. "That's not even getting into how you don't, either."

Well. Duh. His voicing it anyway rankles at you for... some other reason you can't place, though. With almost the same measure of disproportion as when he laughed at your dumb joke. You keep your mouth shut.

Ralsei reads your silence as its own reply, you guess. "It's fair to feel that way, you know. Lightners shouldn't have to live like this. You're not meant to." He sets to rubbing his upper arms, spends a few seconds doing that before his paws freeze in place and his face slackens, with something like revelation. "So... so if I've been leaning on educated guesses anyway," he says, brightening, "how about another one? In other words, this really _is_ all wrong and that means I have to do everything in my power to help make your—whoever-it-is leave you alone for good. Or at least on a more permanent basis." His scarf mimes pounding a fist into an open palm, with a fluidity you don't get to think too hard about before Ralsei is flashing you a nervy but genuine smile. "That has to be it! And really, making things easier for you on that count or any other is just the least I can do. It's practically a part of the mission!" 

"Oh" is what you want to say, to fill up space if nothing else. He wouldn't mind that. But you don't. You're stuck on silent again.

Not because "okay" or "thanks Rals you're a real one" are beyond you too. Something—at the dead center of you—that part has gone very, very cold all of a sudden, crystalizing the more you look at Ralsei. You're...

No. No, actually, this feeling isn't new. It's just that you're starting to grok your reaction from a minute ago, and now it's _worse_.

Ralsei keeps going. "Making that happen right now or even soon are probably out of the question... that said... " He taps a finger to his mouth. "I think... oh!! It'd just be short-term again but—there might be a couple other ways to steal some time away from them? If we can—"

"Ralsei," you cut in, and you can't help thinking of that little red wagon and the oversized birdcage in your room, you brother's bed and belongings and that ugly stain on the floor as you incline your head, make your bangs shift into a curtain for your eyes. "I don't think... any of that, it doesn't matter, actually? Maybe you, me— _we're_ not supposed to do anything. Not about this."

Ralsei stares. He's caught between inquisitive and a total, glaring lack of comprehension. "Kris... ?"

"What I mean is... " You pause, to chew on your lower lip. Your hands curl back into loose fists. "Honestly? I might be better this way."

Ah; _now_ it dawns on him. There goes the confusion, giving way to alarm. "K-Kris... oh jeez, you don't—"

" _Look_." You press a hand to your face, rub your forehead, resisting the urge to card fingers through your hair before letting it drop again. "Ralsei. Look. I-I know this is gonna sound crazy and it doesn't change how much I hate being led around like this, but I don't... I don't think, they're bad? If they're a person at all they're not a _bad_ one." His mouth opens and you fling out an arm, demonstrative. "You've seen it yourself. Acts, sparing, armor upgrades, Weapons What Weapons—they called those shots. They want what _you_ want, Ralsei, that much is obvious. And where it counts they're _nice_. I'm not saying they're, like, perfect, fuck no, but. Fuck. It doesn't feel right, writing them off like they're evil."

"Kris, I... " He swallows. "I-I hear you, you have a point, but that doesn't—"

"Then there's me," you say, undeterred. You start pacing, because even in this claustrophobic space it's the best thing you can do to make talking at length more bearable. "You saw me without them... y'know, highjacking me, right? The moment they left. The literal first thing I did was _scream_ at you, Ralsei, like some shittyass banshee. Plus, hey, guess what! I never solved any of those puzzles! I'm shit at them. Relatedly, we're still stuck here!! I'm not any closer to figuring a way out aside from waiting on Susie." You scrub at the side of your head, regrouping. This is too much talking, you want to clam up and never make mouth noises again, ever, but you can't stop until he _understands_. "If you're saying this prophecy—time, space, shadows, whatever—if whoever decided I'm some legendary hero is, just, _really_ set on me doing this by myself? _It's not goddamn happening_."

You pivot to a stop here, facing him. Ralsei locks eyes with yours, manages it gamely, even from his spot all the way down on the floor and looking more than a little out of his depth right now. "But, Kris... you're not doing this by yourself at all," he says, trying for steadfast, soft-voiced. Utterly reasonable. "It's not just up to you or Susie or me to accomplish everything. That's why we're a team."

"And _I'm_ supposed to be the leader." Your right hand shakes as you thump it open-palmed against your chest, leaving it there. You're dimly surprised that the armor is warm from your body heat. "Because of this, right? Because, one-hundred percent literally, it's ride-or-die between you guys and _my soul_. When I mess up, you get hurt. There's no way around that." The hand falls. Your throat is working against an emotion that's making your chest hot and full and tight all at once. "You can't, afford someone who can't protect you," you bite out. "Even me aside, you know that. You _know_. You wouldn't get on Susie's case for, for biting everyone and not playing nice, for doing dangerous shit if you didn't. So. What's different about that when it's them, and it's me? If you can't admit that _I_ bite and _I'm_ nasty, a lot worse than Susie on, just, _any_ scale, then—then. It has to be them. They have to take the reins, or we're fucked." 

Ralsei says nothing. Roughly speaking he looks like you've walked up and casually booted him in the jaw, which... ha. That just goes to prove your point, doesn't it?

So: "Please. Let me call this one shot, Ralsei. It's literally the one thing I'm capable of. _Let me_."

There's your piece, all said. You're shivering, pulse rapid and thundering in your throat. Even from him you can't help expecting more arguments, some kind of pushback once he's had a chance to rally. Any second now.

Ralsei looks away. It's just the ambient dungeon noises, the rasp of your breathing and the soft huffs of his until, very quietly: "I'm sorry."

He's been fluent in sorries today. This one, though... it hits you different. Because it _is_ different. It makes your racing heart skip a beat, begin to slow.

He starts getting to his feet. "I'm sorry," he says, "because that's the one thing I can't do for you, Kris. Not for lack of wanting what you want—I-I mean. On principle, to be specific, I wouldn't be difficult about this if I could— _ack_." He pulls the brim of his hat down low, breathes in, out; releases his hat while shaking out his wrists and lifting his eyes to meet yours. "I can't do it," he tries again, slowly, "stepping aside, letting you disappear, when your choices, your free will—your _happiness_ matter that much. Not just to the prophecy or your nature as a Lightner, but also"—he stops to swallow, hard—"a-also. To me, as your friend. Who doesn't see an awful person standing in front of him at all."

He pauses, and you realize (through a lot of blinking, your sinuses are hot and prickly and pent up with the threat of tears all of a sudden) that he's blushing up a storm. If you were, like, _normal_ , you'd probably have one to match; what you get instead is that small and hard and awful, awful part of you going _rancid_. It's all bile, it's recoiling, it wants to tear Ralsei to pieces for being so sweet and trusting and horribly fatally _stupid_ and to scream _Why are you being so nice to me can't you see I'm a fucking **freak**_ right in his face, but... you can't. You can't muster it, anymore than you can muster this wholly unearned confidence Ralsei has in your strength of character. Fuck.

"I... I know I can't actually stop you from feeling the way you do," he continues. "By the same token you can't stop me from trying to think of a solution. I care about you being okay too much _to_ stop." He shuts his eyes, paws flexing in and out of a clench, bows his head so most of what you see is hat. "I-if you can't forgive me, I hope you can at least understand."

Like hell you understand. Or have the faintest clue how to respond to—to, just, _any_ of that. But Ralsei is patient, isn't offended by the moment or three you take to tamp down the lump in your throat and squeeze the bridge of your nose, until the stinging and reflexive bile retreat a little. _Fuck_.

"S... sounds fake, but okay," is what you finally manage, since at least it's true. Then, both because you suspect that won't make sense to him and because you can't help thinking of something you said earlier, "I-I'm not—we're chill, we're good, if you're worried about that. And. Like... I don't want you getting me wrong, about being down here. Hanging with you guys and, and meeting everyone, Lancer too—that's not the problem. It's _really_ not, it's just... " When you start again, your voice has scaled down to a shade above a whisper. "I don't think I can handle there being, like. Actual stakes. Y'know? Plus you've been planning for this quest thing your whole life, and I—"

"Got thrown into it out of the blue," he finishes for you. "You and Susie both." He proceeds to sigh, the force of a truly impressive amount of chagrin behind it. "That... actually brings me to the other reason I'm sorry. You were right, Kris." His eyes flick to yours as your head jerks up. "The prophecy makes it sound like our responsibility as Heroes is something we share equally. We _are_ supposed to work together and bring different skills to the table, but... you're right. You're human, and have a human soul. That places an extra burden on you in relation to the rest of us, in a way you never asked for, and it's—it really is a lot, for one person. It's not fair to you." He shifts to looking intensely mirthless before catching himself, dialing it back. "There really _isn't_ anything we can do about that, other than be a good team. I'll never blame you for being upset anyway, for what it's worth." 

You let his words process and settle into clarity before giving them a timid bob of your head. The fact that he's agreeing with you on this feels kind of fake too, but... "Thanks for saying that," you tell him, and mean it. Trying to accept that Ralsei's being sincere is the least _you_ can do, you think.

Processing what he said means that something else is starting to bug you, though. "... Um. Not to be pushy or weird about it, but. You never did say what's different about you coaching Susie and, y'know, riding her ass about fighting everything."

Ralsei's blush resurfacing with a vengeance almost speaks for itself. "Th-that's—how it came across, huh?"

"What you did?" He nods. "I mean. Props for not taking her shit when she made fun of you, that ruled, but... sssorta. Ya. On the whole."

"Oh, _gosh_." His tone is a wincing sort of breathy and sheepish. "I really should've gone easier on her after all... " Come to think of it you _do_ remember him saying as much earlier, if with maybe a pinch less self-effacement. You don't get much of a chance to feel shitty about bringing it up before Ralsei adds, "I-I should still answer your question, though... hmm," and then he's looking off to the side, arms akimbo while his scarf wends it way up to scratch the back of his head. "Like I said, I'm not convinced that you— _just_ you for the record, unfettered and all—I really, really don't feel like you're any more dangerous than Susie at her least, um, on-board with being a Hero?" He takes a moment to eye you seriously. "Someone that willing to take themself out of the picture to protect their friends _can't_ be that. At least as far as I'm concerned."

You're itching to argue the point and just... can't drum up the motivation. Much less a counterpoint. Ralsei gets a noncommittal grunt from you instead.

"Susie, though... I think we can both agree she has a good heart. You don't have to scratch much off the surface to see that, heh. But she's been having so much trouble seeing that for herself, and I... at the time I thought—" He sighs. "Speaking up when she wouldn't stop barreling into things ax-first felt like the right thing to do. Still." And now he frowns, shoulders ticking downward. "As a Darkner I really do risk crossing a line when I get too, er, bossy, with either of you. I'll have to be more careful from now on, out of respect."

... Okay. You've been letting this Destined Servanthood shit slide up until now, but: "bossy"? He thinks he was _bossy_? "I-it wasn't _that_ bad," you say, because it's true, and now you have two reasons to wish you'd never mentioned this or phrased it the way you did. Ugh.

"Enough to call me out on it though, right?" Ralsei eases into a smile, small and thin in a way that makes the back of your neck bristle. "Kris... when I said there was only one thing I couldn't do for you, I meant it. Truly. I'm supposed to be at your service. It's not my place to betray my purpose, no matter how strongly I might feel about something."

Your mouth crooks sideways, until your nose joins in with a stark wrinkle. Man. Maaan. Should you... "Yeah, no. Susie's right, it's weird when you talk like that."

"Like what?"

"Like _your_ choices don't matter."

He goes still. There's the briefest flash of _something_ across his face—it snags at you with familiarity, not enough to start making sense of—before it gives way to a look that's almost... tired. Still papered over with a smile, but.

Ralsei shrugs. "I'm afraid that comes with the territory. It's the way I'm made."

"Kinda got the impression some Darkners aren't feeling that right now," you point out, then give one of the jail bars a _bang_ with your fist. He makes a face; you have to hold back on a flinch in turn. You're already regretting this too, but whether it's true or not it feels like it's too late to drop the subject altogether. So. "This isn't, like, an invite to fight me and Susie and become our enemy, or whatever. This whole zero-to-sixty deal between kissing our asses and kicking them aside, the thing _I'm_ not super hot on is—y-you said we were friends. Doesn't that mean... "

You stall out. Ralsei has already been too patient with you and this _really_ isn't the best time to go all navel-gazey, but... what _does_ having a friend mean?

You're not sure you know. Today and its novelty of you actually feeling _warm_ around other people for once proves that, right? Like—back in Hometown, the closest thing you have to friends is a handful of schoolmates who'd been forced into close quarters with you as kids and came out the other end of it with a polite tolerance for your bullshit. So, like... MK, Temmie. Maybe Catti and Jockington sometimes, when they're not busy being each other's beards. Never Susie, at least not before now, and that's mostly down to your mom never bothering to arrange a playdate when you were both little enough for that. _Definitely_ Noelle though, on account of her being included in the "old family friends!" package deal. Her being gregarious with, like, literally everyone and their imaginary cat helps too you guess. But you never like thinking too hard about where you're at with her for, um, _way_ too many fucking reasons.

To be honest, your best point of reference for anything like legit friend-having _had_ been your brother (years and years and _so much goddamn investment_ sunk into that) and—ha. Ha ha. _Yeah_.

Fuck that.

Anyway. One thing you do know is that the friend standing in front of you—and that's what Ralsei is, unequivocally—deserves the best and right words for this moment. There's no way you're up to that, no weird maybe-ghost to save you either, but: fuck it. Fuck it, you have to at least _try_ , so—"Okay, what I'm saying is... if you're asking me not to, like, undersell myself either, as a friend, then. _I_ have to say, as _your_ friend: I don't want you forgetting that you're a person too, is all. A-and that you're owed a say in shit. Um. Yeah."

... As it turns out, that really is all you've got. Wow!!!!!!!! So much for psyching yourself up, dipshit.

You feel so goonishly lame about it you end up hugging yourself and bracing your back against the bars AND looking away, sullen. Not all in one motion, but close enough. _Ugh_. Ten seconds and some nervous leg jiggles pass before you can coax yourself into peeking at Ralsei.

The move near about plows you into the floor, because—because he's _beaming_ at you. With, like, open admiration. Or something very much like it, if admiration could be this tender and fond and a little bit rueful. "Oh, Kris," he says, "I wish you could see yourself the way I'm seeing you now."

 _What. The_ **hell**.

Suitably enough, that three-word thought has three layers to it: one, intimate knowledge that you would've _squeaked_ if you'd said that aloud; two, having no earthly goddamn clue what Ralsei is on about; three... three is the part of you that's like, no. C'mon. You don't want to but you _do_ get what he means. You do.

And this time—God knows why—the worst part of you doesn't get more of a foothold before that understanding knifes into you like lightning, sets up camp for the long haul. It lives in you now, this specter of knowing that Ralsei means what he says whether or not you believe any of it, both in your head and where your heart has taken to pounding like a traitorous tell. (It's leaving you fizzy and warm down to your toes. It's leaving you _terrified_.

You're starting to think you're not just soft for him anymore. Oh, God.)

"I-I'm just saying," you tell him, with a cough. Answering with anything else would be too inadequate or incriminating in a way you do _not_ want to interrogate right now. "You're a person. 'S nothing special about pointing that out." 

"Coming from a friend, I'd beg to differ." The fact that he says "friend" instead of "Lightner" is almost enough to make you smile and not worry about— _feelings_ , for the time being, even if he IS still doing the exact damn thing that's turning you into goop in places where you think important organs and shit are supposed to be. It's just as well, since after a moment his face falls and he ruins the whole thing by adding, "It's very sweet of you, but... it doesn't change the fact that I'm not really a person in the same way you and Susie are. That's just fundamentals."

He says that so matter-of-factly it manages to, just— _like_ —it cools your inconvenient fluttery heels a little, yeah, but more importantly it breaks your heart just the slightest bit more than it skeezes you out. "Because you're a Darkner?" you prod. "And—a-and people like me made you guys? Ralsei, if that's all there is to it I couldn't give less of a fuck."

Too-Long Pause Number Three. By the end of this one, Ralsei has schooled his twitchy fidgeting scarf into a kind of stillness. He removes his glasses, stiff and slow, uneasy; proceeds to scrub at his face with the other paw.

"That _isn't_ all," he says at length, softly. His paw lowers and he pins you with an unreadable look, glasses still off. "I... should've been clearer before: when I said this is the way I'm made, I wasn't just talking about being a Darkner."

You stare.

Um. Wow, okay. _Okay????_ Here's you now you fucking guess, with Ralsei's words—other words too, reasserting themselves, about waiting for you and Susie _his entire life, all alone, what the **fuck**_ —they're all sitting in the air, suspended cracks in a wall between your side and something much bigger, more cavernous than you would've guessed just by pressing your ear to the proverbial wood and plaster. Hm!! Yeah!!! That's the sum of it, more or less.

Frankly, the implications scare the shit out of you. "What do you mean?" is what you ask anyway, because it feels too important to skirt around but _also_ because, and fuck you alive for it, you kind of _want_ to know. (You can't help thinking your backseat driver would approve. God; you hate this.)

Seconds tick by. Ralsei ends up looking back to the space outside your shared cell, eyes narrowed, searching the dark. Calculating. The last bit sits a little weird on him, but it's not totally unsuiting either. "I don't know if we have enough time... " he says, under his breath. Another moment of waffling, and then he frowns, gives the floor a decisive stamp with one foot. "Oh, dash it all! It's worth a shot." He whirls toward you, glasses slapped on his muzzle with almost the same gesture he uses to fling a length of scarf over his shoulder. "Kris," he says, "if it's alright with you... can I tell you another story?"

There it is. He's taken a sledgehammer to one of the cracks himself, and there's his paw, offering to pull you through. "S—sure," you answer, breathless, hoping you won't live to regret this.

Right now in real life, Ralsei _does_ hold out a paw—both of them, actually. It's a demure invitation you can refuse, if you want. You don't, though; this is your choice now, one-hundred percent. His paws are warm, unfairly soft even through your gloved fingers as you nest them in there, and the pressure of his thumbpads against the backs of your hands makes your skin buzz, right there and down the lengths of your arms, through your shoulders, up to the back of your neck. It's—the sensation isn't unpleasant. It puts you in mind of a couple minutes ago, because of course it would _you're touching him now what did you EXPECT dumbass oh God_ and suddenly you very very highkey want to either float in midair or die. But it would be counterproductive to do either of those things for a lot of reasons, so you make a conscious effort not to float or die as Ralsei lowers himself to the floor, like earlier, and you manage to follow him down like a normalass person.

"So," he starts, once he and you have gotten settled, "there's something of an, um, elephant in the room I should address first, about the Delta Rune."

... Oh?

"That the emblem exists in your world too is part of it, but more specifically: the Angel... you don't see them the same way we do here, isn't that right?"

Not that it benefits Ralsei since he can't see them, but your brows shoot up a decent ways. At least wherever he's going with this should distract you from the uhhh, Other Stuff. "Well... going off what I've been told," you say, "they saved all the monsters from being smote back in bible times. Annnnd um. They're supposed to be important besties with Jesus. Like, 'super tight bro' tier." Your mom would huff her Church Lady Sigh and _tut-tut_ you hardcore for putting it like that, but she isn't here to scold you so tough shit. "They're also, like, Lucifer's good twin?? Kinda? Scary af if you ever had to look at 'em head-on but they're cool cuz they love us a lot, blah blah blah, churchy stuff like that." You start to squint, head tilting. "... But. _You_ talked about 'banishing the Angel's Heaven', as part of this Legendary Heroes deal."

Ralsei nods at you.

"Because the Angel's Heaven is, like, a bad thing actually. Since it would destroy the world."

He nods again, more firmly.

"Sooo, you're saying... the Angel's a _bad guy_?"

Here Ralsei clears his throat. "I uhh, wouldn't go as far as putting it like that." You must look sufficiently poleaxed since he hurries on with, "You're not wrong! Exactly. I wouldn't draw attention to the difference if I didn't think it mattered. It's more that—mm. It's... not so much that the Angel is either good or evil as just, doing their job. When cosmic push comes to shove."

Your squint hardens.

"Okay, yes, that deserves more explanation." He coughs again, legs moving into a tighter fold under his robes. "This is relevant to my story anyway, so! Some background: in the rest of our lore the Angel doesn't really figure into things, save for one exception. Kris, remember the Fountain back in my kingdom?"

"Yeah?"

"Other than the obvious—the way it gives shape to and sustains our world—there's more than a few stories about the Fountain acting as a... I, guess you could call it a vessel? Specifically a vessel for the Angel's emissary. It's said to observe us and on _very_ rare occasions intervene on our behalf, in times of great need."

"... That part sounds halfway okay," you say, then, "Doesn't that mean one of them's chilling in this new fountain?"

"In theory, yes. That's why we associate spare fountains with the Angel's Heaven in the first place." Ralsei hesitates here. The edges of something abjectly _bleak_ creeps into his eyes and the bend of his mouth, and it's like ice water down your back. "Having more emissaries seems like a good thing on its face, but... the one Fountain really is all we need. Anything more than that is just encroaching Darkness. It's unsustainable. And once too many fountains spring up—"

"The Angel comes to call," you finish for him.

"Right. Destroying the world when an imbalance between Light and Dark has worsened beyond repair is just... necessary housecleaning, from their point of view."

 _And they wouldn't be wrong_ , he doesn't say. This conclusion sits like a lodestone between the two of you anyway.

Your cheeks puff with an exhale. "Cool," you say, then shift the splay of your legs on the floor, in a bid to get comfortable again. "Soooo. No pressure on us, huh."

You don't really expect a response to that. You very much _do not_ expect it to be Ralsei making this—it's like he's choking on a sputter? Which he then tries to smooth over with the driest possible, "Why no, of course not," except _that's_ ruined by a hysterical giggle he can't quite smother, and—oh. He clamps a paw over his mouth but whoops, too late; your brain has decided this is contagious and now _you're_ laughing. It's Nervous Gigglesathon all up in here. Ralsei gives up on decorum or whatever after a few seconds and joins you.

This doesn't, like, fix anything on the count of daunting magical destinies, but it's _nice_ almost. Like the slimmest of pressure valve releases. If nothing else it leaves you warming up to Ralsei more than you already have ( _hahahahaaaa RIP me lol_ ) because _damn_ if it isn't good to see his mask of This Is Fine™ keep slipping like this.

"Sorry," you tell him anyway. Or, like, push the word past a laugh, really.

"D—don't be, I started it!" Before you can argue, Ralsei is sighing long and hard and he's apparently reined in enough composure to add, "We should, uh, get back on track I think."

"Yeah. Yeah, fair." Remembering that _hey there's a time limit here_ does plenty to sober you up quick, too. Ralsei waits until you're both sufficiently quiet before continuing.

"Okay. Yes. The emblem, then." Ralsei's scarf lifts to adjust his glasses. It's a prim match to the way his brows draw together and dip in the middle, all business now. "As you've probably guessed, the Delta Rune as it exists down here is a symbol of how the fates of both the Angel and the Heroes of Legend are intertwined. To wit, the Angel is the winged circle above and us Heroes are the triangles below, standing at ready. For you... "

"It shows the Angel watching over everyone. Especially monsters." Proving once again that Baby You _did_ in fact pay attention in Sunday School, thanks very much. At least sometimes. "Heh. S'kinda funny."

"What is?"

"Mr. Boom—he was a teacher, back home—sometimes he'd go off on how the Rune didn't use to, like, mean that? No one actually knows who came up with it and why. People acting like it's ever been any different used to drive him _nuts_." Once upon a time Mr. Boom brought more than a few church council meetings to a grinding pissed-off halt with those rants, or so you've heard. Most of that happened in his later years. "He was around when the first treaties between monsters and humans were signed, so... if anyone would have a clue, it'd be him."

"Oh, wow." The awed sparkle in Ralsei's eyes is both warming and infectious enough to coax a real smile out of you. (Cute... ) "He must have seen—so much history?? That's incredible!"

"He was a cool guy," you say, utterly sincere. "Wrote a lot of my favorite stories, too. You would've liked him."

"I think I would've, yes." He spends a few seconds stewing in what seems like a bubbly sort of pensiveness before shaking his head, as if coming to. ( _Cute_.) "Anyway; I'm glad you brought that up, actually," he says, "about Lightners not knowing the Delta Rune's origin. As it turns out we Darkners have... uhh, a similar problem. Though it's more an issue of interpretation than ignorance."

"Yeah... ?"

Ralsei inhales through his nostrils, taps together his fingertips in a steeple. "The Legend itself only talks about the importance of sealing the fountains, but over the millenia there's been speculation on whether the Rune's symbolism is purely abstract or a depiction of events to come. In other words, people wondered if it was foretelling a climatic battle between the Heroes—us—and the Angel themself. More than a few Darkners have come to believe this battle will happen, and... III won't lie and say it's my cup of tea—it's borderline apocryphal if you ask me—but!! Still! This has been all well and good. Until, that is, people started arguing that the Delta Rune was foretelling an _outcome_ of this battle too.

"By and large, two schools of thought developed from this." Slowly, he pulls his left paw away from the other one and spreads it. "On one side, people who think the Rune shows the Angel and what's left of their Heaven being chased off by the Heroes. A prediction of triumph." His right paw moves to mirror the left. "On the other, people who think the Heroes are destined to be overcome by the Angel's might. A prediction of doom." His paws fall into his lap, fingers meshing, and if only for a moment you can't help thinking back to the tattered old shopkeep who believes in the end of the world and how they were as chill about it as you can imagine anyone being.

Ralsei's not quite done, though. "Now... " A length of scarf twirls into the space in front of him, lazily. "It's not exactly popular, but sometimes you'll hear whispers floating a third idea. They'll tell you that winning or losing"—he snatches the scarf with both paws, holds it out taut and horizontal between his fists—"was never the point. We'll battle to a draw, and in that way regain perfect balance between Light and Dark. The rarest prediction of all: equilibrium."

You suck in your lips, thoughtful. "Let me guess. You like Number Three the best. Ooor, One?"

"None of them call to me, to be honest? As I said, not my cup of tea." He gives his scarf a gentle shoo as he releases it. "They're still interesting as points of discussion, and of course having different theories or beliefs about this isn't bad on its own!" A pregnant pause. "However. When people let these things steer their actions in ways that end up hurting others... "

... Ah. "This is the 'in' for your story, isn't it."

Ralsei touches a finger to his nose. "Yup! With that out of the way... " He leans forward, paws on his knees, eyes an intent weight on you. "This is going to be a long one, provided I can get through the whole thing. And it's, um. Kind of on the heavy side... er." His brows furrow. "Kris, is there anything you need to be—"

You flap a hand at him. "I'm good, but like, thanks. For checking, I mean. I can handle a lot of gnarly shit." To your mom's eternal consternation, at that. If anything you're just kind of bummed Susie isn't here to get in on this too, if this new story is gonna have junk she'd actually be into. "That's to say: ready as I'll ever be, I guess."

He nods, deeming that good enough. "Alright. In which case,

I'll begin.

Long ago, the KINGDOM OF DARKNESS was the crown jewel of the DARK WORLD, home to both the FOUNTAIN OF DARKNESS and a thriving population of DARKNERS.

These Darkners were a little different from most, in two ways. First, they had all been given life through the power of Lightners' HOPES and DREAMS, with no conduits apart from SHEER IMAGINATION. Second, they had dedicated their lives to the DELTA RUNE. Every citizen of the kingdom was a designated GUARDIAN of its LEGEND, devoted to both its study and stewardship in anticipation of the day it would at last be fulfilled.

Near the end of its Golden Age the kingdom had a QUEEN, who ruled the land with a well-intentioned yet iron fist. She was none too popular, her subjects split down the middle between fealty and disapproval, but everyone fell in line to maintain the peace. A KING once ruled alongside her as well, but he had been long since BANISHED IN DISGRACE, for reasons that are now lost to time. Both the Queen and her only child, the YOUNG HEIR TO THE KINGDOM OF DARKNESS, were all that remained of the royal family.

One day, a LIGHTNER appeared at kingdom's edge.

He was about the same age as the Heir, a MONSTER who had declared himself a KNIGHT and wished above all else TO MAKE THE DARK WORLD HIS HOME, FOREVER. He told this to every kingdom-dweller who would listen, likewise made himself infamous for being brash but earnest.

There was, of course, nothing that could be done to help grant the Knight's wish. But the Queen took pity on him. She instructed her subjects to welcome him with open arms, looking the other way when he got up to mischief and when his visits to the kingdom lasted for very, very long stretches of time.

As the weeks passed, the Knight and the Heir grew well-acquainted with each other. The Heir was a shy and lonely child, desperate for company that wasn't another adult; the Knight was lonely too—he had trouble making friends, both here and in the LIGHT WORLD—but he had seen some of the Heir's fledgling feats of MAGIC and craved more of it, since the art was forbidden to his people back in his own world.

From that starting point, the children played. They played, and played more still, until playtime was done and all that was left to them were words. The Knight and the Heir spent countless hours together, until their acquaintance bloomed into friendship, and then friendship into... still that. But also, SOMETHING ELSE. The exact words for how the children felt would never leave the tips of their tongues, alas.

Eventually, once they grew close enough and only when it could be spoken in private, in whispers, the Heir told the Knight A SECRET. You see, the Kingdom at large knew the Heir as a "princess". But that title and the way he had been living out in the open did not reflect the TRUTH of who he was.

The Knight was overjoyed at first. His best friend was like him too! What wonderful news! But... "Why haven't you told anyone?" he wondered. "It's not like they wouldn't understand, right?" After all, one of the reasons the Knight spent so much time in the Dark World was precisely that: here, he never once had to argue or put up a fight to convince anyone he was a boy.

"Of course they would," was the Heir's reply. "You're not actually the first person I've told, sillyface! No, the problem is that anyone who's been nice to me about it and wanted to help is... too afraid, of her."

"Wait, help with what?" asked the Knight. "Who's 'her'?"

The Heir started with a simple answer, meekly spoken: "My mother."

The Queen, he went on to explain, believed that the PROPHECY was a prelude to THE END OF EVERYTHING. The CHOSEN HEROES might well succeed in their task of SEALING THE FOUNTAINS, but it would all be for naught. Ultimately, they were doomed to fall in combat against THE ANGEL. The Queen was sure of it.

So sure, in fact, that as a PROTECTOR OF THE REALM she felt it her duty to prevent any pieces of the prophecy from falling into place, ever. No matter the cost, or how bitter her detractors. If it turned out that her child could very well be the PRINCE FROM THE LEGEND, then...

"That is such bullcrap," declared the Knight, in all due eloquence. ("Language!" the Heir shushed, without really meaning it.) "You shouldn't have to hide because of some dumb prophecy! If no one else is gonna help I'LL talk to your mom."

The Heir protested, but when the Knight assured him he would discuss nothing except the Legend and pointed out that his clout as a Lightner might help matters, the Heir conceded it was worth a try. That settled, the Knight went to meet with the Queen.

Unfortunately, this did not go well. The Queen had spent her entire life devoted to the Delta Rune's legend, after all. She knew where she stood. The last time she had suffered through petitions to reconsider her position on the prophecy was long in the past, whatever her detractors continued to whisper behind her back. To now have a child ask that of her—an OUTSIDER no less—struck her as a grievous offense.

When the Knight refused to take "no" for an answer, at least not right away, much of the Queen's goodwill for him evaporated. Lightner or not, she was beginning to see him in a new light: as an interloper who could prove dangerous if he was allowed to persist on this matter.

"WOULD YOU HAVE ME RISK THE ANGEL'S WRATH UPON BOTH OUR DOMAINS, SIMPLY BECAUSE THE TRUTH IS TOO INCONVENIENT FOR YOU?"

The Knight quailed at what was clearly a final warning. When dismissed, he left without another word.

Given the chance to collect himself, he stewed on his audience with the Queen and became FURIOUS. Was she really so stubborn, that short-sighted? Would she have her own flesh and blood suffer in silence if it meant she would never have to change her mind? This was unacceptable!

The Knight told the Heir as much, when he reported back with what had happened. After some fraught back-and-forth the Heir promised he would try approaching his mother himself, in case it would make any difference. But...

The Knight saw the terror written in his friend's eyes, realized he was being placated, and he knew. The Heir would never do it.

No longer in a mood to argue, he left the Heir in his CASTLE.

The Knight sulked as he walked, all through CASTLE TOWN, past faces both friendly and begrudging while acknowledging none, until his feet carried him to the very fringes of the kingdom. He was no less angry for it.

In the midst of that anger he had a thought, like the toll of a bell: if the Queen, like her subjects, had been GIVEN LIFE at the will of a Lightner, could HE...

Beguiled as much by curiosity as his aimless fury, the Knight took a moment to wish, with all his young Lightner strength, that the Queen would disappear from this realm forever. And then he had to depart from the Dark World, since it was time for him to go home.

The next day...

... the Kingdom of Darkness awoke to no Queen. She had vanished without a trace.

It would be a few more days before the Knight was able to return. Once he did, the sight that met him as he approached the place he considered his true home was... unspeakable.

Violence in the streets, out in the fields too, Castle Town in ruins. The Kingdom was awash in CHAOS as he had never witnessed in the Dark World before. Bewildered, and fearing the worst, the Knight weaved his way through fights and fires in search of his best friend.

Eventually he found the Heir hiding in a room beneath the castle, a secret space the two of them often retreated to. After the children hugged out their relief, the Heir explained in a rush that his mother was gone, everyone had been upset and confused and scrambling to make sense of what had happened and, oh, things deteriorated SO quickly from there. Members of the court started accusing each other of foul play. More still panicked at the sudden vacuum in power. Within hours all sense of propriety had gone up in smoke, as tensions between those loyal to the Queen and her dissidents came to a final boil. And then...

In the end, it was the loyalists who drew first blood. They would see to a SCORCHED EARTH, to once and for all rid the Kingdom of Darkness of those who would see to the prophecy's fulfillment. The dissidents fought back; were still fighting, and losing ground. Everything else—what was still transpiring outside, homes and storefronts destroyed and common folk caught in the crossfire—was collateral.

"They won't listen to me!" the Heir cried. "Not without my mother. I can't fight them, I've never been any good at that and I don't even want to, I can barely THINK—I'm... I'm so sorry. I shouldn't be asking this of you, but I'm not strong enough on my own. I don't know what else to do and people are DYING. PLEASE HELP ME."

The Knight considered.

He had spent long minutes ready to admit that all this horrible strife might be his fault, but now... in truth, he couldn't find it in himself to be sorry the Queen was gone. He never would, he suspected. He also couldn't help but think of the Darkners his friend had tried reaching out to about his mother; subjects, ADULTS, who had listened as their once and future prince poured his heart out before sweetly saying, like the cowards they were, that there was nothing they could do.

Grownups, he thought, really did ruin everything they touched, didn't they?

"If they want to destroy each other so bad," said the Knight to the Heir, "let them. They don't deserve you anyway."

For a long moment the Heir said nothing. The Knight watched as his friend's expression shifted from shock to pain, and then to... something he had never seen from him before:

A somber resolve.

"I can't do that," the Heir replied. "They're my subjects. It's my duty to keep them safe, and to guard the Legend in turn."

The Knight could sense where this was going, felt it like lead in his stomach. "You don't owe them ANYTHING," he insisted, but the Heir had already turned away, to rifle through the few belongings he had been able to escape with. "Don't be stupid about this! They're all out for blood! It's not gonna be worth your time, what if they—"

"I'm going," said the Heir, with finality. He stood at the secret room's entrance, a SPELLBOOK in hand. "If you want to help me stop this... I trust you'll find me."

Then he left.

Minutes later, the Knight followed.

The Knight did find him, though not until after a fruitless search through the highest points of the castle. He caught up with his friend at CASTLE TOWN SQUARE, where the mobs kept the Knight from drawing any closer than the ruined roof of a nearby shop. He was forced to watch as the Heir sat crouched in the middle of the square with his book propped open on the ground, preparing a SPELL. All that stood between his workings and the thick knot of violence around him was a bubble of protective magic, its potency growing more feeble by the second.

'He's being an idiot!' thought the Knight, a hair's breadth from despair. What magic had to be worked down here that couldn't be done from higher ground? And that aside, how HAD the Heir expected him to help? If carving a bloody path through the crowd to buy more time wasn't an option, neither was wishing everyone away. Either tack would end with the Heir hating him forever, most likely.

Although he wouldn't understand how for a few minutes yet, everything was decided for the Knight the instant the bubble burst. From the ashes of his broken spell, the Heir's voice rose, high and clear, borne on the howling winds of NEW CONJURY:

"I am THE PRINCE OF THIS REALM, and I will this fighting to cease NOW _._ "

With that, he cast his spell.

The Knight recognized the heatless flames of PACIFY as they poured forth, flooding everything at ground level with light, and he suddenly understood his friend's logic. Pacify was a close-range spell—only highly advanced practitioners could hope to work around that—and the town square was glutted with injured Darkners. If enough of them had been weakened to the point of bending under the spell's power, perhaps—

Make no mistake. All things considered, the power channeled into the Heir's spell was very great. But nearly all his targets were stronger still, even wounded, and he was little more than a child overextending himself. Within mere moments, he was left with less than nothing to offer up anymore.

It was thus that the Heir's magic guttered out, and any means of defense along with it. At least, no immediate defense. No help that would come soon enough.

The Heir turned on his heel in a daze, spent. Unseeing as a KILLING BLOW swung its way out of the crowd.

All he could do was SUCCUMB.

If you had asked the Knight about it afterward, he could tell you very little about what happened next. All he knew for minutes on end...

was RAGE.

It carried him down, down into the crowds, onward and through and farther still, with his VICIOUS SICKLE drawn like The End of Everything the Queen had feared so much. Any thought of cleanly willing the Darkners into oblivion was beyond him. No. That would be too kind, in his rage's estimate. And that rage cared not at all about loyalists and dissidents and who started what.

It cared even less about how this should not have been so easy, a child dealing this much death with impunity. Then again, a Lightner's will IS a powerful thing.

The Knight stopped eventually. Not out of exhaustion, or mercy or shame, but because he had emptied the Kingdom of Darkness of anything else to strike down. In the silence, with no more diversions, the Knight was left with only one thing:

HIS GRIEF.

In desperation, he beat a path back to Castle Town. As the fires died and Darkner bodies withered into the ether all around him, the Knight knelt to gather up what was left of the Heir. With all his mind and heart, with all his creative might as a Lightner, he tried to will his friend back to life.

Nothing happened.

It was only then that he wept as a child would.

The Knight was given a few scant moments with his sorrow, or so it felt to him. Then, too vast to ignore, a ROAR sounded in the distance. He looked up.

Behind the castle, the Fountain of Darkness flowed as it ever did. But the roar had been its own, mournful and braying. The Fountain seemed even greater than itself somehow, and for the very first time the Knight could feel its regard even without eyes to meet his own.

The Fountain spoke to him, without reproach, in the voice of oceans:

The Knight faltered for only a moment before admitting, "S-something real bad." Truthfully, he was thinking of the Heir and his awful fate more than anything else he could lay claim to. But that seemed almost beside the point, kneeling as he did before SOMETHING so much bigger than himself or this now-dead kingdom.

He hovered at the verge of apology before a thought struck him—or rather, A TERRIBLE HOPE: "He—he told me once, you're made up of the stuff that forms this world, right? Can't you just bring him back?"

The Fountain said nothing, for what seemed like eons.

**WE WOULD HAVE THE HEIR OF THIS REALM RETURNED TO US**

it spoke at last.

**HE IS STILL NEEDED. BUT. IT IS NOT SO SIMPLE AS THAT.**

"What do I have to do?" The Knight knew this to be a dangerous question. As he was wont, he could not find it in himself to care.

The Fountain churned on and on, interminably. It gave no answers. The Knight's weeping grew agitated.

"If it's not possible, just tell me!" he shouted, when enough was enough.

The Fountain's very essence whooshed with a sigh.

**IT IS**

it said.

**WE ONLY HESITATE BECAUSE... IT WOULD REQUIRE SO MUCH OF YOU, YOUNG ONE. THE PRICE IS STEEP. AS IT IS THE OUTCOME WILL NOT—**

"I don't care!" said the Knight. "He's my best friend! I'll do whatever you want, just... please. Bring him back."

If the Fountain were not already moved, this surely would have done it. As such, it chose its next words with utmost care:

**KNIGHT.**

**MONSTER.**

**LIGHTNER WHO WISHES TO LIVE AMONG DARKNERS.**

**TO ACCOMPLISH THAT OF WHICH YOU ASK, YOU MUST FIRST APPROACH US. YOU MUST GIVE OF YOURSELF EXACTLY AS WE DICTATE. AND, ONCE YOU HAVE DONE THIS, YOU MUST LEAVE THE DARK WORLD IMMEDIATELY AND NEVER SET FOOT IN IT AGAIN.**

**ONLY THEN WILL THE HEIR BE REMADE, AND WALK THIS REALM ONCE MORE.**

The Knight was speechless. He felt so small, so powerless against the SACRED IMMENSITY of this world's very lifeline.

**KNOWING THIS**

the Fountain concluded,

**ARE YOU STILL WILLING TO PROCEED?**

Oh, did the Knight resent this. How could he feel otherwise? This was not what he wanted! If this was what a happy ending had to look like, it was pointless! It was worse than pointless!

And yet.

More than he hated these conditions, he could not fathom a universe without his best friend. Likewise, even with all the time he had spent retreating from its shadow in his short life, he understood the concept of PENANCE. If the Fountain's demands was the price he had to pay to make up for his failings and to SAVE THE ONE HE... THAT HE—

"Yeah," was his answer. "I'll still do it. For him."

Deep in the Fountain's heart, streaks of rainbow radiance began to emerge.

**PROCEED WE SHALL, THEN**

said the Fountain.

**COME FORTH, MY CHILD. BE QUICK. LEST YOUR WILL SHOULD WAVER.**

As instructed, the Knight approached The Great Fountain. As further instructed, he handed over the Heir's empty robes and hat to the torrents of its geyser. He gave of his fondest Hopes and Dreams, bled himself dry of them until he was told to stop and had only the dredges left to his name.

With regret, the Fountain asked for more. For SOMETHING ELSE ALTOGETHER, this last time. The Knight was forced to give away other

small

pieces of himself,

and cast them into the depths of a CARING VOID,

into the HOLY MYSTERY.

**THANK YOU**

said the Fountain, as the Knight shivered and felt very, very hollow indeed.

**I AM SORRY. BUT THANK YOU.**

It stalled, until finally:

**DEAR ONE. YOU KNOW WHAT YOU MUST DO.**

The Knight did.

He stepped into the Fountain's geyser, grimly, and was taken back to the Light World one last time. There was no ceremony to it. No send-off. No goodbyes.

The Lightner who had wanted to make the Dark World his one true home would never be seen in the Kingdom of Darkness again.

... Ah

said the Fountain, now truly alone for the first time in living memory.

If only. We had banished him sooner.

('But, no,' it thought. 'What tyranny that would have been. To punish a child who had yet to commit any crimes apart from ridding this realm of a pernicious ruler... could we rightly be faulted for shirking that?')

What is done is done

it concluded.

The Destroyer has left us... **so. NOW.**

**NOW AND THUS SHALL THE PROPHECY RESUME ITS COURSE.**

To the east, at the Fountain's behest, the GREAT DOOR TO THE KINGDOM swung shut. The Fountain would not allow interference as it set to work, even from its most trustworthy of Darkner offspring.

And work it did. Even with the required materials it was no trifle to rebuild a slain Darkner, and since the Heir's make-up had already been different from most of his brethren... in many ways, he would be coming back A NEW PERSON ENTIRELY.

That suited the Fountain just fine, though. There was the prophecy to consider, and witnessing as it had the utter failure of this kingdom—an experiment in mass cooperation that had ended in the deaths of far too many innocents—the Fountain was not inclined to take more chances.

So this time, it took extra care in its crafting. And it had A PLAN:

The HEIR REBORN would be a perfect steward of the Legend; a humble servant to Lightners in general and the Heroes of Legend in specific, reverent and loyal to the last. He would also live alone, as his true self, sealed off from any corrupting forces so long as the Great Door remained shut. He would keep his vigil in the kingdom, ever faithful, until the Legendary Heroes paid their long-fated visit.

Lastly, in this life, he would know without question his INTRACTABLE ROLE in the greater scheme of things. AND HE WOULD ACCEPT IT.

It was thus that the final compromising vestiges of the old kingdom well and truly died, and A LEGENDARY PRINCE FROM THE DARK was born.

That's where Ralsei stops.

It takes you a few seconds to realize he's actually finished. Not because the ending felt abrupt or anything like that, you're just... you're reeling. A bit. Trying to squeeze your thoughts into order as you stare at Ralsei and the thin, faraway wisp his smile has become.

You swallow thickly, then say, "Is that... d-did that really—"

"It's what I've pieced together, to the best of my ability." He breathes out and flexes his fingers where they sit in his lap, looking a touch more grounded now. "This... isn't a story a lot of Darkners like to dwell on, if they even remember it. It's been that way historically, to the point where I'm positive some of the records have been—erm. Expunged, to be frank. It's not like the signs of tampering were all that subtle, last time I checked." A little intake of breath, here. "Not even our sacred texts were spared," he adds, and the way his fingers curl into and clench the folds of his robes make it even more obvious this is a sore spot for him. "I spent _so much time_ , Kris. Years and years of pouring through whatever scholarship I could get my paws on, lifetimes worth of it, _just_ to assemble a version of this tale that makes sense." His face and posture alike soften with bashfulness. "That's why you'll have to forgive it for the places where it gets, um, patchy on the details. Or the other way around, heh."

You would nod, but you're too preoccupied with, this... it's a feeling. An _itch_ that keeps asserting itself; a stray thread from the mental jumble you took away from Ralsei's story. Picking at it for a couple seconds brings it into enough focus for a thought: _I feel like I've heard most of this before._

Well. His story _is_ a fairy tale, basically. Plenty of those have fallen kingdoms and starcrossed romances. They have knights and royalty and magic in spades and, y'know, the Dark World is _literally Fairy Tale Central, **c'mon**_. You used to eat up RPGs and Mr. Boom's novels like candy. You're overthinking this.

Because the weird nagging feeling is stupid and ergo unsatisfied with that, you try channeling it into what seems like an obvious question: "Do you, like, remember any of that happening to you?"

Ralsei's face goes blank, for far, far longer than the flicker of an instant.

"No," he says, lowly. "Not at all. I... I've tried. Of course I have, more times than I can count! But... " He sounds _lost_. Borderline distraught too, if a very tucked-in Ralsei version of it, and now you're feeling kind of rotten for asking. He shakes his head before continuing. "I-I won't lie and say this hasn't left me—doubting, a little. I don't have the memories, nothing _jogs_ that memory, and I can't even ask the emissary in my kingdom to corroborate my research. When the Fountain isn't silent altogether, it only ever speaks to Lightners."

 _Would it talk to me? Or Susie?_ You can't help wondering, but that's as far as you let your curiosity run with it. You don't actually want to know what this emissary—the Fountain, whatever—has to say about any of this. Besides... "None of that stops you from believing, though." That comes out as a mumble you half-hope he misses.

You're not that lucky, of course. "It doesn't. It'd be foolish to ignore my other findings, and that's just speaking practically. Less practically... " He trails off. Eventually his head tilts back as he looks up, not quite at the ceiling, and the very slight change in the air hits you like a sting to the sinuses.

"One of the earliest things I remember," Ralsei says, as both lengths of his scarf snake forward and lay their fraying fringes against the backs of his paws, gentle, "is exploring Castle Town for the first time. I had to watch where I stepped every inch of the way, because there was debris _everywhere_. Broken glass, hollowed-out buildings. Charred bits and pieces, scattered like a rockslide had plowed through everything. Discarded weapons." He closes his eyes. "I didn't know what had happened, not yet. But I understood that it must've been awful. There'd been fighting, that much was obvious. It destroyed an entire town and then some, and then... no one ever came back to clean it up. It was scary." His eyes reopen and fix on you, head lowering. "That's not what it looks like now, of course," he says, mechanically bright. "Fixing the kingdom up was as much about anticipating your arrival and making things look presentable as... well, doing it for my own peace of mind." The smile he flashes you is bereft of joy. "It helped pass the time, that's for sure."

You say nothing. Your mouth sets and your fingertips dig into the meat of your thighs as you think about your own tour through Castle Town. If you went back there, would you notice it this time? Would you be able to pick out the neat little seams of repair scarring the shopfronts, the streets too?

"Kris," Ralsei says, "the reason I told you this story... I didn't do it to make you feel sorry for me. I'm _fine_ , and that's part of the point. I wanted you to understand where I'm coming from, what I'm destined for and—and don't have the room to stray from. And that I'm okay with it. Really."

"That's so fucked," you finally say. You're scrambling to your feet, a full two seconds ahead of your brain registering what your body's doing. "Ralsei that is so _fucked_."

He rapid-blinks before shooting back with, "It's the way it has to be," and it's just, _pragmatic_. Like what he's saying is the simplest fucking thing in the world even though it will never ever be that. He's standing up too. "Kris, I wouldn't just be letting you and Susie and the prophecy down if I did otherwise. The sacrifices that went into ensuring I'd be here at all, alive... everyone responsible for that is owed their due, too."

"You didn't ASK to be brought back!" you snap. "Just—the fucking, _Fountain_ —it didn't even put you back together in a way that'd let you remember who you were! Why should you owe it or anyone else _shit_?"

 _This_ stuns Ralsei into silence. His smile drops, eyes gone wide enough to see the whites of them all around.

It vaguely occurs to you that you may have just Done A Blasphemy. Less vaguely, you wonder if you're just shoving your personal baggage onto Ralsei and need to fucking _stop_ , but—but. The things he's saying can't be okay. They _can't_. The least you can do here is tell him what Susie would if she were around, maybe, since speaking as yourself did fuckall before and you know in your gut she'd be better at this anyway. "I mean it. Fucking... you were forced to live by yourself and, a-and rebuild a _goddamn kingdom_ , Ralsei. And then you're expected to be this—this, perfect little slave to destiny or what-the-fuck-ever. All that, because other people _needed_ you? That is _bullshit_."

He says nothing still. His head has turned towards the corner of the cell where the moss used to be.

"You shouldn't— _have_ to be okay with any of that," you say. "It sucks. You can say that. You can." The silence stretches, grows agonizing, and you draw a shaky breath. "Ralsei, talk to me. _Please_."

He stiffens, sighs. Finally shakes his head, slow like a dream. "Kris," he says, "this is probably going to sound harsh, and—a-and the last thing I want is you thinking I don't appreciate it, because I do! More than anything! But... I'm not sure you should be wasting all this kindness on me." Then, before you can cut him off, "The problem isn't how good or bad I feel about the path I've been set on, because for me?" He dredges up a smile again. "It doesn't matter. It never has."

"Bullshit it doesn't," you spit.

"It's the truth, though." He splays a paw across his chest, pressed to the patchwork heart stitched onto his robes. "I'm part of something bigger than my very _self_ , Kris, much less my feelings on things or"—he falters, just the slightest—"or the conditions I've been subject to. It is _so much_ and incalculably bigger. We're meant to _save the world_! To balk at the steps that led me here, to you and Susie too, when there's so much at stake... " The paw on his chest falls away to clasp the other one and he shrugs, an awful and disconsolate sort of hapless. "That's not my luxury to have. I've got a job to do. Until the prophecy is fulfilled, what I want is... irrelevant."

"But it matters if it's _me_? Because—cuz I wasn't born here or handcrafted by some, some _fucking_ shitty higher power that won't even TALK to you?? Th-that's not—" You hiccup against a drawn breath. It's hitting you that your voice is ( _has_ been) clogged to shit. Your nose, too. You must have been crying for at least a good minute now, Jesus. "Y, you told me why, I _know_ , I get it, I heard you. You don't have to, fucking, explain it again. I just—hate it. I hate it. It's not _fair_."

That's what it boils down to, really. Plus you're sick of talking in circles, of talking at all, and for that matter you're sick of gushing snot and tears but _that's_ not going to stop on a dime for you, so. Here you are, crying like you only used to do in front of your dad (or Azzy, back when you were eight and it was actually worth your while to be that vulnerable around him).

Between one sniffle and the next you glance up, and there's Ralsei with... it's force of habit you guess, assuming he's going to stand there looking embarrassed on your behalf for being such a huge baby, but no. If anything he looks beside himself, mouth and brows all pinched up in that specific way that tells you he's concerned and wants to do _something_ to make things Less Bad but has no idea what. It reminds you of Noelle, weirdly.

After a moment, his paws stop wringing and settle on hovering at about shoulder-level (for both of you; you've only got an inch on Ralsei, discounting his hat and horns). He looks between you and his paws, then back again, until, "Can I... ?" almost inaudibly.

You think _Hug?_ at first; intuit by the tilt of his paws and the way his thumbs are extended what he actually means, then... okay. Yeah. You nod.

Ralsei starts in gently, wicking off the wet from your cheeks with his thumbpads, from the corners of your eyes too. This forces him to shuffle closer, and by the time he's kind of, just, cupping your face with his paws, you can feel his breath whuffing out of his nostrils against your nose and lips. This is, um. Bothering you a lot less than you thought it would. Which is to say not at all. Ha ha. God. Twenty minutes ago you would've hated this enough to _scream_ , and now you don't really want it to stop.

... You're tempted to draw the line at his scarf dabbing away your snot, though. "Dude," you croak, "that's gonna get, like. Real gross."

"Oh, it won't, it's self-cleaning." The part of you that now aspires to sound like Susie Saying Smart Shit goes " _ **what**_ ", but the scarf evacuates your personal bubble and Ralsei is humming dolefully before you can say anything. "Jeez... Kris, I didn't mean to—I-I shouldn't have made you upset. I'm sorry. I really didn't think this one through."

"Well," you say, around another sniffle, "pro-tip if you don't want Susie tripping her shit on you too: don't tell her any of this."

His laugh is halfway genuine. "It's not like she needs the encouragement, I suppose," he says, and then his expression is lapsing back to something that's... not concern again. But it's distinctly unhappy. Your hands are up and covering his paws where they rest on your face before you can put any thought behind it. "Ha. I feel like... we really have reached an impasse in talking about this, haven't we?"

You frown, preparing to ask Ralsei what he means by that—and then his head's turned away, toward the corridor outside your cell. There's footsteps. Faint ones. You go rigid with attention too, with listening.

You realize it's not one of the guards.

 _No_. The two of you pull apart, hands and paws dropping. No. No no no no no, you're glad Susie's okay but you don't _want_ this, why can't you have her back without _**them**_.

Ralsei hisses something (you can only half-convince yourself it wasn't " _shit_ " since it sounded very much exactly like " _shit_ ") and—you're not expecting it when his paws latch onto your hands again, giving them a squeeze, tugging you into facing him. Even with the urgency he's not remotely rough about it.

"Kris, listen," he says, hushed, "I know there's nothing I can say that'll make you feel better about—where I'm at, right now. But if there's one thing I hope you can take to heart, it's that I'm... Kris, I'm happy when you're happy either way, because you're _you_. Lightner or not, you're... y-you're my friend! You're made of starlight and possibilities and you're worth keeping around, always. And I meant what I said about helping you to get rid of your—you know. That hasn't changed. So, please... " He lets go of your hands. "Please try to hang on. Don't disappear, okay? I'll keep working to fix this."

Your face starts to crumple. On some level the things he's saying are making you too warm and heady to function, but the rest of you absolutely in no way _cannot_ with this. Not now. Fuck starlight and possibilities and whatever else he thinks you're worth because _this isn't fair. It's not fair._ "Ralsei... "

"As long as it's your birthright to be free in a way I never can, I have to, but more than that it's what you _deserve_ —"

Something in the air _**snaps**_ (before you can).

"—so that's why, okay Kris?"

No. No, not in the air.

In you.

... Oh. Hi there.

It hits you belatedly that Ralsei said that last part louder, almost conversationally. Like he knows. Or has guessed. You rein in your grimace and the snarled froth of your feelings as best you can (what choice do you have _now_?) and give him the tiniest, curtest nod. You hope he sees it for what it is.

Ralsei eyes you up and down then sighs through his nose; softly, acknowledging. That's all he can give you before he has to put on a cheerier face for Susie (for _them_ ) as she steps into the light.

It's the funniest thing, in a day chockablock full of awful funny things. She's made it back safe, despite looking a little worse for wear and like she suddenly has a million billion new things to talk about that she's not willing to cop to just yet, and she's about to set you both free. But you know with the surety of someone else's consciousness pressing against your own and of Ralsei being Ralsei that it's not going to change anything important at all.


End file.
